The blood seeped from Emma’s cheeks. “It is lovely to meet you.”
Catherine’s eyes narrowed, sweeping over Emma’s face and figure with icy exactness. She did not bother to so much as feign civility, suspicion dripping from her frown. “You’ve been the topic of much conversation this morning. Though I admit I imagined we would meet at my sister-in-law’s house. Pray, where is Clara?”
“At home, I believe. I have been seeing to an errand in town.”
Owen sensed the discord and cut in. “I would offer to convey you to Primrose End, but I imagine you would prefer to walk.”
Emma took a step along the path. “Indeed. I had better be on my way.”
“If you are in a hurry, perhaps you’ll allow us to?—”
“Nonsense, Owen,” Catherine snapped. “She wishes to walk.”
Emma nodded, ignoring the slight. “I thank you for your consideration.”
Owen’s jaw set.
“Miss Darling?” Catherine leaned forward in the seat. “Now that you have moved to the dower house, you have no need to come to Buckley Place. I would not wish to put you out at all, so should you require anything, or if you desire to speak to anyone from the big house, you need only send a servant over. They must have something to occupy them, anyway.”
Humiliation filled Emma. A deep-red blush started in her chest and crawled up her neck. Owen’s mother was requesting in the subtlest way possible that Emma cease communication with her son. Emma knew it well because she had watched herown parents say similar things to Owen when they had been courting.
England’s matrons had slippery tongues, capable of both greatness and cruelty. The tide had fully shifted now, and she had received the brunt of embarrassment as he once had. It was nothing more than she deserved, because it was true. If Owen was to find a bride worthy of him, she would need to stay far away so the rumors would die.
Emma took a step back. “Of course, Mrs. Buckley.”
With that settled, the woman leaned back against the squabs. “Drive on.”
“No, wait.”
“Not now, Owen.”
“Mother—”
The wheels clacked over the rough, packed dirt road, carrying them away. Emma continued to walk home, listening to the wheels spin and keeping her eyes on the footpath in front of her. She refused to look up and watch him leave.
Again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“That was entirely out of line.”Owen slashed a hand through his hair, discarding his hat on the sofa as he passed it. Catherine lowered herself into the chair opposite, sitting beside Father and reaching across the distance to take his hand as if presenting a united front.
“Watch your tone,” Father said.
“You were not there.” Owen seethed. The very gall of his mother to speak those words. To speakfor him. He could not decide which he appreciated less.
“Indeed,” Catherine said with feeling. “I’ve never been more mortified in my life. Mrs. Cooper was all that is good and kind, but she would not commit to attend our ball without confirmation that the rumors about Owen and Miss Darling were baseless.”
Owen paced behind the sofa, his legs antsy and his body full of restless energy. He’d been caught off guard by the question, unable to answer it with satisfaction. Of course Emma had not put herself in his path in the hopes of snagging a husband. Of course they did not have an understanding between them. ButMrs. Cooper had pummeled him with accusations swathed in drawing room inquiries, and he did not defend Emma as he ought. His astonishment had been too great.
“Luckily I was able to convince Mrs. Cooper that, whatever the Darling woman might feel, Owen is searching for a young woman of proper breeding and decorum.”
He inhaled through his nose, seeking patience.
“But Lady Gifford!” Catherine retrieved her hand and covered her eyes. “The woman seemed to care for nothing but gathering information about the secret love affair at Buckley Place!Evidently,she has a vested interest since her husband was once engaged to Miss Darling and has always felt that the woman could not be trusted.”
Owen swung around and looked directly at his parents. “We will take Aunt Clara’s character recommendations before those of a jealous baron’s wife whom we do not know.”
“Perhaps Clara is tooclose. She may not see what is hiding directly in front of her.”
